


The Colors that Haunt You

by smollNerd



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Ghost Stories, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Horror, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Romance, Violence, the colorblind soulmate au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:34:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smollNerd/pseuds/smollNerd
Summary: Mature for sensitive themes in later chapters and also profanity.Every day he’d tell himself he didn’t need color; his paintings were good enough without it. Didn’t need a relationship; he had a hookup app to get him by. Didn’t need a soulmate; he had plenty of friends to love. He was happy with the way things were now.Still, he looked forward to the day when he could see in his art what everyone else did.orSora has an unexpected encounter at the annual Halloween party.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Riku/Sora (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 61





	1. In Glorious Technicolor

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on later chapters at the end!
> 
> The colorblind-until-you-meet-your-soulmate AU with a Halloween twist!
> 
> Please enjoy~! <3

Sora saw the world in black and white. Literally. Everything he saw was greyscale, not a single drop of color in his vision. It made his career as a painter nearly impossible – but then, it was a _career,_ so his paintings couldn’t be too bad, right?

Sometimes he would go out on his balcony and gaze up at the stars, taking in the bright dots of white against a black sky, wondering if there would ever come a day when the world looked as vivid and bright as all his married friends insisted it was. He wanted to believe they were right, that there was more to the universe than shades of grey and longing for another’s touch.

After his fifth or sixth relationship, he gave up. It was nice to feel loved for a while, sure, but he always knew that someday his partner would tell him all about the wonderfully diverse palette they were finally able to see, just before offering their apologies and saying their goodbyes. Against his better judgement, Sora remained good friends with every one of them. He really was happy for them, but he could never fully extinguish the spark of resentment in his heart.

Every day he’d tell himself he didn’t _need_ color; his paintings were good enough without it. Didn’t _need_ a relationship; he had a hookup app to get him by. Didn’t _need_ a soulmate; he had plenty of friends to love. He was happy with the way things were now.

Still, he looked forward to the day when he could see in his art what everyone else did.

***

As Sora applied the finishing touches on his latest canvas of grey, grey, and grey, there was a knock on the studio door.

“’S open!” He called through the two paintbrush handles between his teeth.

The door swung open and he heard the unmistakable clacking of his best friend’s favorite high-heeled boots on the paint-stained linoleum behind him.

“Sora put down everything and listen to me,” Kairi said, speaking even faster than usual, with an excited tremble in her voice. “You will not _believe_ the day I’ve had!”

“Mhmm,” Sora hummed and remained focused on a particularly stubborn bit of butterfly wing-level detail.

“Sora!” she yelled as she placed one hand on her hip and one on Sora’s shoulder. Sora turned, wide-eyed as if he had been suddenly awoken.

“Oh! Sorry, Kai,” he moved his free hand to the nape of his neck the way he always did when apologizing, leaving a streak of paint on the skin and ends of his hair.

“I swear,” she said with a roll of her eyes and shake of her head. “One of these days that won’t work, and I’ll lose you in a paint bucket.” She chuckled and crossed her arms.

“Didn’t you have something to tell me?” Sora reminded her with raised eyebrows.

“Okay, so…” Kairi went over her day in extravagant detail – about the full breakfast Vanitas made her just before dawn, the beautiful sunrise they watched together as they ate on their festively-decorated porch, and the question that knocked her breath completely out of her.

“Isn’t it just _gorgeous?_ ” She said with a wide and prideful smile as she extended her hand to Sora so he could see the ring. Three stones, two small dark grey ones on either side of a rather large light grey, heart-shaped gem.

“A Halloween engagement, huh? Sounds like Van,” Sora smirked, and softened his smile to one as sincere as he could manage. “It’s stunning, Kai. I’m so proud of you guys.”

Kairi stayed for a while to go over everything she had already planned for the wedding. Sora continued his work as he listened to ideas for bridesmaid dresses, floral arrangements, and first dance songs. He promised all four times he was asked that yes, he’d be there for the dress shopping, and yes, he’d be thrilled to be her Maid of Honor.

After an hour or so of workshopping the wedding with him, Kairi left Sora alone with the lingering sensation of their goodbye hug and a sinking feeling in his chest. He had known about the ring – Vanitas had told him weeks ago about his plans to pop the question – and he was happy for her, for both of them. He truly loved his friends, and their relationship was literally _meant to be._ Still, there was something about his best friend getting married to his former weeklong flame that left him somewhat hollow. He thought he was ready for this. He was happy – he had lots of wonderful friends and a passionate career. He wasn’t even sure that he _wanted_ a soulmate to begin with. Having a soulmate meant he’d have less time to paint, and less time to paint meant less income, which wouldn’t do at all. No, he was fine with how things were.

He just wished he didn’t have to lie to himself to believe it.

Sora sighed and turned back to his easel. Looking at the clock, he figured he had time to start a new project before having to get ready for tonight’s festivities. He set up a second easel so as to not disturb the piece still drying and got to work on a new abstract project. Sora hoped the paints he chose would be the right colors to accurately convey the emotions he was brushing onto the canvas.

***

By the time his alarm sounded to alert him of the party starting in an hour, he had gotten a significant portion of his painting done. He sighed as he stared at the canvas, wondering if it looked any better in color.

Kairi’s voice echoed through the open window of his apartment, announcing that they were outside waiting on him.

He changed out of his paint-splotched clothes and into his costume. It was nothing fancy, just a handmade costume consisting of fake fangs, clawed gloves, small bat-like wings, and a mask covering one eye that he had enlisted Kairi’s knowledge of color to guide him in painting it to look like a demented pumpkin with horns. He gave himself one final look in the mirror before heading out the door to meet his friends on the sidewalk below his apartment.

Outside he found a Vanitas-cat with matching Kairi-dog, a basketball player-Xion adjusting the hat on the head of a Naminé-witch, a superhero-Lea and sidekick-Isa, and a spoilsport-Roxas without his boyfriend.

“C’mon, Roxas,” Sora whined. “Even Isa dressed up!”

“What? No, dude, I’m you!”

Sora cocked his head to the side and squinted both eyes.

“Nope, don’t see it.”

“See?” Naminé chuckled. “We told you he wouldn’t get it”

Roxas groaned before climbing into Kairi’s car. “Let’s just go already. Hayner and them are meeting us there. Van, what’s the address again?”

The party was on the other side of town at Vanitas’ brother’s house. Ventus was still relatively new to the group and had offered to host this year’s party despite no one actually knowing where he lived. Anyone who couldn’t fit into Kairi’s car followed close behind in Isa’s. Roxas spent the entire ride explaining to Sora how an apron and paint-splattered jeans was a completely respectable Sora costume.

They arrived at a large brick house decked out in more Halloween decorations than his mind could comprehend. Inflatables, animated skeletons and demons, a mix of handmade and store-bought ghosts, and a small graveyard complete with plastic tombstones and hopefully fake zombie parts littered the front yard. Dracula greeted them at the door.

“Velcome, velcome! Please, invite yourselves in, stay for a bite, and leave your stakes and garlic at the door!”

“Really getting into character this time, huh brother?” Vanitas smirked, and pointed toward one of the animated decorations on the lawn. “That demon new?”

“You know it!” Ventus said with a grin, showing off his fangs. He turned and called out behind him, “Terra, Aqua! The food is here!”

A tall man dressed as a knight holding hands with a woman in a very clever mermaid costume appeared at the door.

“Why don’t you give the vampire puns a rest for a while, Ven?” The knight said as he ruffled the Dracula’s hair.

“Oh, let him be,” the mermaid chimed in. “He’s excited is all.”

Sora let out a quiet laugh as they entered single file into the house, which was decorated to the same extreme as the front lawn. Coming through the stereo were classic Halloween tunes, and the television was set to the horror movie channel. 12-packs of sodas and beer were dedicated half an entire table of their own, directly next to the punchbowl and overstock of snacks. Sora made a mental note to vote for Ven to host again next year, and every year after that.

They spent the next couple hours playing flip-cup and dancing to Thriller and The Monster Mash. Hayner, Pence, and Olette had arrived during one of Ven’s Dracula impressions, which had become increasingly worse with every glass of spiked punch he had. As the night progressed, Sora retreated deeper and deeper into himself. Everywhere he looked he was reminded of his own shortcomings. He couldn’t see the supposedly red fake blood on the walls, the orange jack-o-lanterns, or the colors on the television screen. To make things a million times worse, he was surrounded by couples flirting, holding hands, kissing – he and Ven were the only ones without. They were happy and in love, all either married or soon-to-be wed. He found himself gravitating towards Ventus for most of the night.

“Havin’ a good time, Sora?”

“Oh yeah, it’s great!” Sora answered. “We should’ve had you host years ago.”

“Aw, stop it,” Ven said with a bashful smile. “A lot of this was Aqua’s idea. Believe it or not, she’s always been pretty theatrical. I mean, I’ve always decorated every year, but ever since moving in with her and Terra I’ve really upped my game.”

Sora was happy to learn more about Ven’s roommates. They were even nicer than Ven had described in the past, and they made such a wonderful couple. He wanted what they had – his complement, someone he could exist beside in comfort without fear of judgement. Without fear of them running off to be with someone he had introduced them to, not knowing they were soulmates.

“Hey…I have an idea,” Ven gave Sora a mischievous smile before slinking over to where Vanitas was teasing Roxas and Hayner for their shameless displays of affection.

Ven whispered something Sora couldn’t hear over the music and conversations into his brother’s ear.

“Hey everyone, c’mere!” Vanitas yelled, and motioned for them to follow him out the front door.

When everyone was outside, Vanitas gave his brother the floor.

“You see that abandoned house over there?” Ven pointed across the street and down a ways. Where he was pointing sat a dilapidated two-story house with boarded windows. It seemed much older than the houses on the rest of the street and had a weathered “For Sale” sign swinging from the roof of the covered porch by only one still-intact chain. Even from so far away, there was a noticeable shimmer of light glinting off the floor of the porch, most likely broken glass. Amateur graffiti tagged the worn-down siding and the gutter hung onto the roof as if by a single thread.

“What about it?” Naminé asked, tentative, as she clung to her wife’s arm.

“Well,” Ven said as he pointed his phone’s flashlight at his face from below his chin. “They say back in the day there was a surgeon and his wife who lived there. He was the best surgeon around – never lost a single patient. That is, until he did.

“You see, his wife needed a complicated surgery done on her heart, and he was the most qualified man for the job. No one knows why for sure, but the surgery failed. When he realized what he’d done, he isolated himself and only saw patients in his own house. Every couple days people would enter the house, but only some of them would be seen leaving. Some of the neighbors even swore they heard screams coming from the basement at night.”

Ven paused and looked around at the group. Naminé, Kairi, and Lea were all leaned forward, grasping each other and their partners, and Sora was putting every ounce of effort he had into seeming cool as a cucumber. Based on the look Ven was shooting him, he was a little more than sure his best was not nearly enough.

He continued, “Eventually rumors spread of what the guy was up to. Some said he was performing sick experiments on the patients, and others said he was killing and eating them. Either way, a rotten smell began coming up from the sewer drain in front of his house. When the police were called to investigate, it appeared that the rumors were correct. Over _fifteen_ women’s bodies were found in a tunnel below the house. Only…some of the parts were missing.

“Soon after that, the cops stormed the guy’s house only to find the surgeon _dancing_ in the living room with an exact look-alike of his dead wife. Upon closer inspection, though, they noticed stitches all along the woman’s limp body. Instead of complying with the cops, the surgeon pulled out a scalpel and attacked. He managed to stab one before cutting his own throat. They say he died on the floor holding the hand of his Frankenstein-ed woman.

“And to this very day, the spirit of the surgeon roams the property, waiting for the perfect bodies to replace his and his wife’s!”

Screams erupted from everyone but Isa and Hayner, and even they had jumped back a little. Vanitas laughed along with Ventus and Terra, and Aqua looked on with rolling eyes.

“You guys,” Aqua reprimanded, “you’ve got them scared half to death!”

“Not as dead as that surgeon, though,” Ventus squeezed in during a break in his laughter.

“N-none of that is true, right?” Sora asked.

“Of course not,” Terra reassured.

“But, then again…” Vanitas added, which warranted a soft punch to the arm from his brother. “What? You set ‘em up, I’ll get them pissing themselves with fear!”

They piled back inside and carried on with the party. When it seemed as though it was beginning to die, Ventus once again demanded the floor.

“Alright, guys, listen up!” Ventus announced. “Truth or dare?”

“What is this, high school?” Vanitas scoffed.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!” Ven said and was met with a cacophony of groans and rolling eyes.

Everyone eventually agreed to the game on the condition that the stakes be increased. Lea had come up with the idea that anyone who didn’t complete their dare would have to stay the night in the Surgeon House down the street. Sora was apprehensive, yet excited. He may have been well into his 20s by now, but he had to admit he missed these kinds of juvenile antics he and his friends would get into. Besides, it was just the thing to get his mind off his insecurities.

They went around the room taking turns asking questions that were far too personal and doling out dares that were equal parts gross and embarrassing. When it came time for Sora’s turn, he chose to be dared, afraid of whatever sinister thing Vanitas would ask in order to pry into his personal life if he had chosen truth.

“Okay Sora, I dare you…” as Vanitas looked around the room, his eyes stopped on the window overlooking the street. A sly smile crept across his cat-painted face as he snickered and said, “I dare you to go into the Surgeon House.”

“W-wait, you can’t do that! Even if I say no, I’ll still have to go in there!”

“What, don’t think you can handle it?”

“I never said that, it’s just not fair is all! C’mon guys back me up here!” He looked around at the circle of smiling faces, only to be met with a few half-hearted apologies and shrugs.

He groaned. “Alright fine, but you’re all coming with me.”

“Nuh-uh, you’re going in alone. We’ll send someone to wait for you outside.”

Sora agreed to the terms – he would go in for no less than ten minutes and Kairi would wait for him outside and act as a witness. Sora would take pictures and videos of the inside of the house, partly for proof and partly to satiate the others’ curiosity, and Kairi would record him entering and leaving the front door.

His friends waved them off and wished him luck as the two of them made their way down the street toward the abandoned house. His heart beat at a million a minute and he had to hold tight onto Kairi’s hand to keep his own from trembling. With a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze of his hand, Kairi sent him up the porch stairs alone.

He put on his brave face, reached for the knob, and opened the door.

***

The interior was as he expected – dark and musty with cobwebs and dust bunnies scattered across the walls and floor. The floor creaked as he stepped forward with his phone camera set to video. With his flashlight on he could make out sheet-covered furniture, paintings peeling in their ornate frames on the walls, and stiff, dusty drapes that barely moved in the breeze coming through the cracks in the boarded windows. As he shuffled through the living room, he ran his hand in awe over the fireplace mantle, imagining how long it must have taken to carve such detail into such a large piece of wood.

He walked through an archway into what could only be the kitchen. It was small, with an old Formica laminate table resting in the corner, one chair resting upside down on top, and one on its side underneath. Inside the large retro refrigerator was nothing but dead roaches and cobwebs. He made his way back toward the living room to investigate the staircase to the second floor, taking note of the door to the backyard he had somehow missed before.

Looking into the first room upstairs, he saw what appeared to be a study with an entire wall dedicated to a large bookcase, still filled with dusty tomes and candles. He had full intentions to continue his tour of the house and had begun to peek into the next room over, a bedroom it seemed, when he heard a metallic squeak, a creak in the floorboards, and a _slam!_ of the study door.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Sora turned on his heel and ran down the stairs. He skipped every other step, almost tripped over his own feet as he ran toward the back door and fumbled with the handle.

_What’s that noise? Footsteps! Shit shit shit!_

He slammed the back door behind him as he stumbled onto the back porch, picked up a large stick, and turned to stare at the door. After a minute or two of silence, save for the unexpected crunch of broken glass below his feet, he lowered his makeshift weapon and looked around at the fenced-in yard he stood in. Long-dead rose bushes lined the fencing and a rusty patio table sat in the middle of the tall grass. There were even a couple benches in either back corner, although they were nearly smothered by an overgrowth of ivy vines.

He sighed as he tried his best to calm his breathing. It was an old house. There were bound to be some strange noises, and the second-floor windows weren’t boarded up, meaning the slamming door must have been caused by the wind. It’s just an old abandoned house. Nothing to be afraid of.

After taking a few pictures of the garden, he turned back toward the house and opened the back door. He screamed as he ran face-first into another body in the doorway.

With a sharp gasp, the breath in his lungs stilled. His blood pumped fear-induced adrenaline through his veins and the whole of his body shook. His eyes were wide and darting between the two green ones in front of him. Wait…green…. _Green!_ He shifted his eyes downward towards upturned lips. _Pink._ _Silver_ hair, _yellow_ shirt, _blue_ pants _._ The two stared, unmoving, the mysterious man brandishing a wide grin and waterlogged eyes. _Green eyes._

When the stagnant air in his lungs forced its way out, so too did streams of warm wetness from his tear ducts. As much as they stung from the constant exposure to the chilly October air and sudden salt water, he’d rather die than shut them for even a moment for fear of opening them to the palette he had known before. He swallowed hard and opened his mouth.

“You…you’re…”

“Beautiful….”

Sora felt the heat in his cheeks spread throughout his entire body. He smiled and found himself at a loss for words.

“What’s your name?”

“S-sora.”

“Sora,” the man’s smile transformed from a grin to a fond smile. “Riku.”

 _Riku._ His name was as vivid as the colors that graced his form. Sora was helpless, torn between the beauty of the man in front of him and of the urge to take in the world around him. All this time he had convinced himself he was okay with his black and white life, _liked it_ even. He searched in vain for a time in his life that he had been more completely and utterly wrong. And for Riku to be the first thing he’d seen in this new light, for him to fill the entire frame of his vision…he couldn’t think of anything better.

“So, Sora,” Riku filled the silence. “What brings you here? It’s not very often I see anyone else around this house.”

“Oh, you know. Haunted house. Truth or dare. Tale as old as time.”

Riku let out the softest, most wonderful laugh Sora had ever had the pleasure of hearing. He smirked, and said, “I see. Is it as scary as you thought it would be?

“In a way,” Sora laughed. “I didn’t expect you to be here, that’s for sure.”

Riku blinked slowly, and his smirk softened into a fond smile.

“But anyway, what about you? What are you doing here?”

“I uh…hang out here. It’s a nice place I guess. That is, if you like to be alone.” He shifted his eyes back into the house, around the garden, at a thick patch of ivy, and finally back to Sora.

“Cool, cool…” Sora trailed off as he searched for something to say. He settled on asking about his lack of costume.

“Couldn’t you tell? I’m a ghost,” Riku said. He took a step back and motioned at himself.

Sora looked him up and down with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk. “Pretty lame ghost, if you ask me,” he teased.

Riku laughed and said, “Hey now, don’t diss the costume. Ghosts look just like you and me.”

The two smiled and stared at each other in silence still in the open doorway, save for the occasional sniffle caused by either of their previous joyful tears. Sora was desperate to find something, anything, to talk about. But still, he was awestruck by the man in front of him. Without a doubt, Riku was seeing things in the same way he was and knew as much as he did what it all meant. The shared tears and nervous, unwavering smiles were proof enough of it. Yet, he had not brought it up, and so neither had Sora.

“So…what do you do for a living?”

“Oh, uh…” Riku looked away “Nothing, really. But I like to write. It’s what I went to college for, actually.”

“Really? What do you write?”

“Novels, mostly. Sometimes I dabble in poetry and other stuff, but…” he paused. Sora looked into his glazed over and wistful eyes and gave an encouraging smile. “I never got a chance to publish anything.”

“Why not?”

“Circumstances never in my favor, I guess.”

“There’s always time!”

Riku didn’t answer – just stared at Sora with heavy eyes and a small smile.

Just as Riku opened his mouth and began to speak, there was a knock on the front door. Sora flinched, but relaxed when he heard Kairi’s muffled voice calling his name.

“I’m sorry, I…I better go. My friends are waiting on me.”

“Oh. Alright then.”

Sora turned toward the front door, but after his second step, he stopped. He stood for a moment, fiddling with his phone in his hands and chewing on his lip.

He turned back to Riku, his voice trembling with excitement as he asked, “Do you maybe want to come with me? We’re having a party for Halloween and I’m sure my friends would love to meet you.”

“I better not,” his eyes were downcast, and his voice was barely above a whisper. “But…I’ll be here tomorrow. You could come by. If you’re not busy, that is.”

Sora smiled and felt his heart leap into his throat.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

They stood in the dim moonlight streaming in through the still-open back door for a few moments longer, before bidding each other goodnight and Happy Halloween.

***

When he stepped out onto the now recognizably cream-colored porch, he could only stare, mouth agape in awe. Amidst the warm glow of the streetlamps was a whole world of colors he could never have imagined. Autumn wildflowers of red and yellow and violet speckled the tall green and tan grass. The porch of every house he could see was adorned with orange pumpkins and festive-colored lights. He moved his gaze to Kairi, and felt fresh tears welling in his eyes. She was beautiful enough in greyscale, but she was _gorgeous_ in color.

“Sora…?”

Sora threw his entire weight into the arms of his best friend, knocking the both of them to the ground, and buried his face into her shoulder. She held him as he cried, running her hands up and down his back and her fingers through his hair. When his tears ran dry he leaned back to finally face sapphire and auburn directly.

“His eyes are green, Kairi,” he choked out through his tear-soaked smile. “They’re so beautiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Advance notice of Content Warnings for later chapters:  
> The last chapter (chapter 3) contains non-graphic suicide references as well as homophobia/minor homophobic slurs.
> 
> Will (hopefully) update every Saturday until Halloween!
> 
> Catch me on twitter [@smollNerd!](https://twitter.com/smollNerd)  
> And [Tumblr!](https://smollestnerd.tumblr.com/)


	2. True Colors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for mostly fluff with a little angst. 
> 
> Warnings for future chapters once again at the end. Just in case :)
> 
> Please enjoy~! <3

Sora didn’t sleep that night. After leaving the abandoned house, something strange had happened that left him with a terrible feeling of dread the remainder of the party and the whole night after. Even now, laying in his bed and scouring the internet on his phone for some sort of answer, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply _wrong._

With every step he took back to the party at Ven’s, his vision gradually faded back to its previous greyscale. He couldn’t focus on anything else – not the thrilled questions Kairi continuously prodded him with on the way back, not the applause that greeted them on Ven’s porch. Before rejoining the others, he made Kairi promise not to tell a soul what had happened. No one could know that in that abandoned haunted house, he had found his soulmate. No one, not even Kairi, could know the color was only temporary.

He’d go back to that house and confront Riku. It had to be some sort of mistake, but mistakes like this don’t just _happen._ In his relentless search he found no trace of an answer, only dozens of articles offering condolences and tips on how to cope with grief. All signs pointed toward disaster, pointed to Riku being…no, he didn’t want to even consider it. He refused to entertain even the slightest notion that the minute he found his soulmate, his missing piece, he lost him again.

That morning, he kept himself busy painting, completely scrapping the canvas from the day before. He instead started work on a rough portrait of a man he had met only once, yet already memorized every line and curve of his face – a man he would soon see again if only the clock would tick faster.

Around half past noon he swapped his paint-stained clothes for fresh ones, loaded up his backpack, walked down to the sandwich shop below his apartment, and grabbed lunch for him and Riku. It was too far of a distance to ride his bike if he wanted to get there on time, so he hailed a taxi and told the driver to let him out in front of the abandoned house at the end of the street once they arrived.

As he approached the once again cream-colored porch, his heartbeat quickened, and his mind raced. _This is it,_ Sora thought. He’d walk right in there, announce his arrival, and find out if Riku had been having the same problem he was. Maybe then he’d get some answers. Maybe then he would be one step closer to knowing for sure if there was something wrong with him, or something wrong with fate.

The moment he stepped through the door and saw Riku lounging on the sheet-covered couch with his nose deep in a book, he melted. All intentions faded away, and the only thoughts left in his brain were of how lovely it would be to rush into Riku’s arms and profess not his predicament, but his relief at seeing him again.

“H-hey Riku!” Riku looked up from his book and smiled. Sora continued, “I, uh…I brought lunch, and I thought maybe we could watch a movie or something while we eat.”

“You came.”

“Of course I did, I’ve been looking forward to it since last night!”

“I’m glad,” his smile widened, then fell a little. “Sora, you know there’s no electricity here, right? How are we going to watch a movie without a television?”

“I brought my laptop and some DVDs,” he explained as he wiped down the dusty coffee table with the sheet that had previously been draped over it. He unloaded the sandwiches and his laptop onto the table and laid out the DVDs for Riku to choose from.

“Huh,” Riku stared at the movies, head cocked to the side and brows furrowed.

“Um…this one’s my favorite,” he said and pointed to Fantasia, “and I’ve seen this one, but I’ve never even heard of this last one.”

“Well, which would you rather watch with me?”

“Fantasia.”

“Right!” He popped in the DVD, hit play, and handed Riku his sandwich. He stared at it for a moment before offering a quiet “thanks” and taking a small bite.

“I didn’t know what you like, so I hope it’s not bad.”

“It’s perfect,” he said with a smile.

As the movie began, Sora rested his head against Riku’s arm.

“It’s my favorite, too. I’ve always wanted to see it in color.”

***

It wasn’t long before Sora realized he wasn’t getting Riku to go anywhere else but the house with him. He was alright with that, though. Even as much as he’d like to go on a fancy dinner date or spend the night together in his own bed, Riku was right – it was a nice place to be alone. He hadn’t forgotten his predicament, however. In fact, he grew more anxious by the day and it took everything in him to hide his concern from Riku.

For weeks he avoided the discussion. It never felt like the right time to bring it up – not that there necessarily was a “right time” to tell your perceived soulmate you thought it was possible that destiny had made some kind of mistake. He kept his anxieties to himself, and instead allowed himself to take comfort in the fact that regardless of whatever issues he was having, Riku always asked to see him the next day. For now, that would be enough.

There were never any official confessions of crushes, but Sora felt that Riku knew all the same. He certainly was aware of Riku’s, at least. It didn’t take much time for long, nervous goodbyes to become lingering hugs before Sora’s departures. When they gathered enough courage to hold hands, they’d leave soft caresses with their thumbs. Napping on the couch together quickly became spending the night in a sleeping bag Sora brought for them to share. Every time Sora laughed, Riku smiled at him with unparalleled fondness, and the pervasive sadness in his eyes was temporarily replaced with something much lighter. He never revealed feeling small pecks on his forehead as he pretended to be asleep on Riku’s chest. Instead, he’d wait a few hours to place one on Riku’s cheek while he read his books as Sora’s own personal way of saying “thank you”.

“How about we start a project together?” He asked one day as they were intertwined on the couch, Riku reading aloud to Sora out of his favorite original novel.

“That depends,” Riku said through a kiss on Sora’s forehead. “What kind of project?”

“Let’s fix this place up! Or at least clean it a little.”

Riku gave him an apprehensive stare.

“We’re already trespassing anyway, so why not make it a little nicer?”

He smiled down at Sora and chuckled. “Yeah. I’d like that a lot,” he said before continuing the chapter.

Once they finished their week-long cleaning spree of the house’s interior, Sora took it upon himself to bring in some decorations. “To make it our own,” he had said.

He hung battery-operated string lights around the living room to light up the nights they spent together and dedicated a corner of the study to a fraction of the art supplies from his studio. When it got cold enough, he brought in a portable generator to plug in a space heater. While it didn’t exactly heat the entire house, it was good enough for lazy afternoons and nights cuddled together inside the sleeping bag.

When he wasn’t with Riku he was at home painting or being bugged by his friends about his mysterious new love interest. He hadn’t meant to let slip that he had met someone, but the discussion, he knew, was unavoidable in the long run. And, because it was just his luck, the first besides Kairi to find out just so happened to be the biggest gossip amongst them.

He had been on his way to see Riku when the inevitable, yet somehow unconsidered, happened.

“Sora!”

He turned and searched for the disembodied voice calling his name, only to find a person-shaped ball of unbridled energy running toward him from his own home across and down the street.

“Hey, Ven!”

“Going into the Surgeon House again? That’s crazy! I bet it’s a lot less scary in the daytime, though. Whatcha got there?”

Sora stammered as he tried, too late, to hide the bag holding two lunches in his hand. “Oh, uh…lunch?”

Ven cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. Sora gave a nervous smile and started to offer an excuse but was interrupted by yet another voice.

“Sora?”

Riku stood on the porch, and Ventus seemed even more confused than before. Sora watched as his eyes darted between himself and the man shuffling down the porch stairs toward them. An apparent understanding dawned on him, his eyes widening and mouth letting out a rather audible “oh!”

Ven walked past Sora and through the gate. He stretched out his hand to Riku, who hesitated before taking it.

“Nice to meet you! I’m Ventus, but you can call me Ven,” he said with an over-excited grin.

“Riku. Nice to meet you.”

Sora stifled a giggle at Riku’s awkward introduction as he joined them in the front yard. He was hit with the realization that this was his first time seeing Riku interact with someone other than himself. While he had known that Riku wasn’t very social to begin with, this added a new layer to Sora’s theory that he really didn’t get out much.

“Ven, this is,” he looked to Riku as he took his hand and gave it a little squeeze, “my boyfriend.”

Ven’s eyes lit up. He shot Sora a look that said “we’ll talk about your secret-keeping later” before bombarding Sora and the poor socially awkward man with question after question. Sora interjected anytime Ven’s questions became a little too prodding or personal, and promised he’d explain later why he kept such a big secret from everyone and why they were hanging out at such a locally infamous location. When he could tell Riku was becoming too uncomfortable to continue the conversation, Sora shooed Ven away with the excuse that their lunch was getting cold.

They stood in the yard, watching Ven jog back to his home, Sora knowing all too well the kind of storm he’d just unleashed on himself.

“He seems…nice.”

Sora laughed. “Yeah, too nice for his own good.”

“And uh…boyfriends, huh?” Riku’s flattered blush was more than apparent, even as he tried playing it off with a loving smirk.

“I figured it’s about time we made things official, don’t you think?” Sora said, displaying his own red-tinted cheeks and reveling in Riku’s fond and teasing smile as he nodded. “Now c’mon. Our lunch actually is getting cold.”

They weren’t even ten minutes into the movie they were watching before he felt an incessant buzzing in his pocket. He checked his phone and was taken aback by the dozens of messages from his friends either chastising him for keeping secrets or encouraging him to introduce them to Riku. He’d seen it coming – Ventus had always been too excited to keep new and interesting information to himself. But this was really something else.

He sighed, ignoring the texts as he put his phone on silent. He’d deal with their nosiness later.

***

It was a common occurrence for Sora to sit on the floor of the study, colored pencil in hand, gaze flicking between the quick lines he made on the paper and Riku as he sat at the desk tapping away on the typewriter he insisted on using in lieu of a laptop. There was nothing he loved to draw more than the writer in front of him, and he had already filled half a sketchbook with doodles, sketches, detailed studies, and pastel pieces of his boyfriend concentrating on various mundane tasks. Most pages were host to the same intense expression of focus Riku held the majority of the time, but every so often Sora coaxed out his smile long enough to capture its radiance. These were his favorite moments with Riku – existing in solitude together, each cultivating their own passions. Sometimes he was even lucky enough for Riku to ask his advice on a particular passage he’d written. He never really knew what to say to help, and so it seemed to Sora that Riku just wanted to share.

Every so often he’d take a break from drawing to sneak photos of Riku going about his day. It became a sort of game to Sora: “How Many Pictures of Riku Can I Take Before He Notices?” He was up to 284. Honestly, it was a miracle he had never managed to be caught – until now. He had been taking a break from working on an illustration for a scene in one of Riku’s stories to get a picture as he read to him. Sora winced a little as Riku’s head snapped up at the sound of the artificial camera shutter Sora had forgotten to mute.

“What are you doing?” Riku had asked.

“Taking a picture of you,” he explained quite matter-of-factly. “Oh! Let’s take one together!”

“With what camera?” he teased.

“The one on my phone, silly.”

Sora was too busy flipping through the filters for the perfect one to fully register Riku’s addled expression. He leaned in close, and with a wide grin and a peace sign, snapped the selfie.

“Riku, you’re not smiling! Let’s take another one. How’s this filter?”

Riku nodded and Sora struck the same pose as before. This time, Riku smiled.

“Perfect! Do you mind if I send this to my friends? They’ve practically dying to see what you look like, and they’re all jealous of Ven for being the first to meet you.”

“Oh, uh…sure? Go ahead.”

Sora smiled even wider at Riku’s deep pink flush. They continued to take more photos together, each with a different face filter and a different pose. Riku seemed to become more comfortable with the idea of being immortalized on camera with each selfie they took, and what began as a stiff, serious smile became looser and looser, until his poses bordered on completely silly. He requested the same filter more often than not, and Sora was happy to oblige considering Riku was somehow even cuter with bunny ears. The final picture had caught them mid-kiss as they had both turned to peck the other’s cheek at the same time.

Riku was the first to pull away, leaving Sora starry-eyed and desperate for another. He imagined his face was just as red as Riku’s. They’d been holding hands, falling asleep together, kissing hands and foreheads and cheeks for weeks now. They had even settled on the official “boyfriend” status. But neither of them had been courageous enough to take the plunge into first kiss territory.

“S-sorry…” Riku stammered.

“Don’t be,” he encouraged, and took Riku’s hand.

“No, I didn’t mean…I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry…”

Now that he thought about it, Riku hadn’t intentionally made the first move once in their one and a half-month relationship. The only exception would have been the “forehead kiss that started it all”, which he had only done because he thought Sora was asleep.

“Hmm…you know how you can make it up to me?” he teased.

Sora placed a hand on his boyfriend’s cheek, earning him a slight nuzzle and ashamed glance.

“How?”

“Do it again.”

This kiss was a proper kiss. The kind of kiss that Sora had only seen in movies and heard about from the most hopelessly romantic of his friends. A fairytale. Sora’s hand still rested on Riku’s cheek and had gently guided his boyfriend’s face to meet his. Their gazes remained locked into one another’s before their eyelids slipped closed as their lips drew nearer. Before they touched, they hovered, and Riku’s breath trembled. Sora didn’t even attempt to suppress his small smile when he tenderly pressed their slightly parted lips together. He sighed as he deepened the kiss, letting out an ever-so-soft moan and allowing his lower lip to slide below Riku’s. He could feel his boyfriend’s hand shaking as it hung beside his ribcage before finding its home somewhere between his side and back, and subtly creeping down to settle on his waist. They stayed there, suspended in time, alone in their secret world of illustrations and stories unbeknownst to anyone but themselves. Everything was perfect. Everything was _Riku._

After a lifetime of melded lips and quiet sighs, they pulled apart and struck up a symphony of soft, flustered giggles, pounding hearts, and rustling fabric and denim as Sora wriggled his way into Riku’s lap. He buried his head in his boyfriend’s neck and trailed soft kisses between his jawline and shoulder. They stared out the window at the first December snow as Riku rocked them back and forth in the squeaky old desk chair while caressing Sora’s back and playing with his hair.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

“Me neither,” Sora smiled into Riku’s shoulder. The smile didn’t last long, however, as a familiar sensation of dread overtook him, the weight causing him to plummet from the soft cloud of paradise he had been resting on. He supposed he’d better get on with it – rip off the band-aid he’d been neglecting for the past six-ish weeks. He took a deep breath.

“But…I’m a little scared, too.”

“Scared?”

He pulled back from Riku’s embrace just enough to look at him directly.

“Sora? What’s wrong?”

He truly despised being the cause of Riku’s worry. It was the very last thing he wanted to be, but this was a conversation that needed to happen. It was bigger than his own comfort, his own feelings about himself or even Riku. And he couldn’t, in good conscience, potentially live out the rest of his life with someone if he wasn’t transparently honest with them.

“Riku, I feel like there’s something you should know. And I mean you probably…well, you definitely do…already know part of it, but…is it any different for you?”

He swallowed and searched Riku’s eyes, waiting for a response. When he received only a worried stare and what could _maybe_ be taken as a negative headshake, he continued.

“Because…I don’t know why, but when I leave this house, when I leave...you...my vision goes grey again. I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t--”

He didn’t acknowledge the tear leaving his eye until he felt Riku’s thumb wiping it away.

“It’s okay, Sora,” Riku assured. “I’m here. Go on.”

“I know that’s only supposed to happen if…if you die. But you’re not. You’re here with me. And the color comes right back again every time I’m around you.”

Sora stared at his lap. He couldn’t give Riku the fairytale romance he had dreamed of giving a lucky someone since childhood, couldn’t guarantee that he even _was_ his soulmate if his intermittent colorblindness was any indication. He’d lose his one chance at a real lasting romance, all because he had vision problems. Problems that Riku seemingly didn’t have. There was no record of anything like what Sora was experiencing, at least not that he had found. He watched as the first tear hit the arm resting in his lap after Riku’s hand slipped from his cheek.

“What’s wrong with me, Riku…?”

“Oh. Oh no….” Riku cupped Sora’s chin and brought his face to meet his own. He moved one hand to the nape of Sora’s neck and gently pulled him close, back to his chest. “It’s not your fault, Sora. I think it’s…it’s mine.”

“W-what?”

“There’s something I need to show you, and you need to promise me you’ll at least try to understand. Please.”

Sora nodded, and looked at Riku with pleading eyes, brows furrowed in confusion. Riku lifted him, bridal style in his arms, as he stood from the chair and set him down gently. He feigned reassurance as he grasped Sora by his trembling hand and placed nervous pecks on every one of his fingers before leaving a lingering kiss on his forehead as if he’d never again have the chance to. He led Sora out of the study, and towards the staircase. The journey down the creaking wooden stairs, out through the rickety back door, and into the snow-covered garden behind the house felt nearly impossible. Sora’s legs were heavy with a rare inexplicable weight, and his movements were stiff. Uneasy and slowed. It was not unlike a certain recurring nightmare Sora had where he just _couldn’t run fast enough_ to reach the outstretched hand of a figure that had only recently been given a face – Riku’s face. They pushed through the overgrowth of grass amidst the already inch-high snow. Riku gripped Sora’s hand tighter and tighter as he hesitated to draw back a curtain of still-green ivy to reveal a lone tombstone.

IN LOVING MEMORY OF

RIKU AKATSUKI

DECEMBER 23, 1946 – MARCH 9, 1970

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than the others - Forgiveness, please! I'm working on getting better at middle chapters. It's a process! :) 
> 
> Advance notice of Content Warnings for later chapters:  
> The last chapter (chapter 3) contains non-graphic suicide references as well as homophobia/minor homophobic slurs.
> 
> Last update (unless I do an epilogue which I almost surely will eventually) will be on Halloween!
> 
> Catch on Twitter [@smollNerd!](https://twitter.com/smollNerd)  
> And [Tumblr!](https://smollestnerd.tumblr.com/)


	3. Over the Rainbow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning:  
> This chapter contains implied and referenced suicide, homophobia and violence.

There’s something about looking down at your own dead body that makes you lose your appetite. Well, no, that’s not right. Hold on. Let me try again.

I like to think I had a good childhood – normal, unassuming, just like everyone else – but to be completely honest, I don’t really remember a lot of it. It’s hazy, as it would be after 50-odd years. Comes with the territory, I guess. What I do remember, though, are the events in the week before my worst day. All too clearly.

Somewhere inside me, I always knew my soulmate would be another man. I don’t remember ever being one for dating around, though. It’s not like I even could. It was a confusing time to be gay, to say the least, and the whole “soulmate” thing made it even harder. What few like-minded friends I did have had to hide their attraction, hide their soulmates. In those days, a lot of people resented their soulmates. As common as it was to find out you were destined to be with the same sex as you, most people took it as either a friendship or a mistake. There was…violence. A lot of it. I was fortunate enough to avoid the worst of its destructive path. For the most part, anyway.

I remember coming home for Spring Break instead of going with my friends on our annual beach trip. I was so busy with my thesis, and I knew there was no way I’d get any work done at the beach. So, I went home. I can still feel the tension between me and my father, the sympathetic glances from my mother. The words that mattered were left unsaid, and the ones that should’ve remained silent were spewed like toxic sludge from a super soaker.

To this day I don’t know how they found out. All I know is that when I arrived home, my father refused to so much as look at me for days. He kept his face buried in the daily paper or the television, and what little messages he did have for me he would relay through my mother. I remember thinking over and over again “what did I do wrong?”, and when I would ask my mother, she’d offer no answer – only sighs and downcast eyes.

I was in a bad place, like most times from what I recall. I never really thought too much of myself. And now, piled with the stress and anxiety of finally getting my degree on top of coming home to a distant father and timid mother…it was all too much. During meals I hardly ate, and none of my sleep was restful. I didn’t leave the solitude of my room unless necessary or for my morning jog.

As I returned one morning from my usual daily run, my neighbor stopped me to chat. Our families had been close, and while the two of us ran with different crowds in our teenage years, we had remained friendly. He caught me up on his life, and I filled him in on mine. He had finished his degree a year prior, and recently landed a job at a reputable business in the heart of the city, on top of just coming back from his honeymoon. It must be nice, I thought, and I looked forward to the day I could be in his shoes – successful in both career and love. Without fear. Somewhere between him complaining about his inflexible schedule and raving about the local food from his honeymoon, my thoughts drifted away from the conversation and toward the way his shoulder muscles flexed as he spoke. I admit, I always did find him attractive. Anyone would, really. And to be fair, our proximity and smiles and laughs could have been seen as flirting to someone in the know of my…preferences. But he was a newlywed and I know better than to get in the way of someone else’s happily ever after. We really were only chatting.

Dad didn’t see it that way.

“You can do whatever the hell you want when you’re with those pansy friends of yours, but I’ll be _goddamned_ if you bring that shit into _my_ house!”

“I don’t know what you mean,” and I didn’t. We really were only chatting.

“You know damn well what I mean. Disrespecting me and your mother in front of our neighbor. You know he’s married, right?”

“D-dad, I—”

“Don’t you ‘dad’ me. If I catch that shit again don’t bother coming back this summer.”

The first words my father spoke to me since coming home, and they were…that. He never spoke about his feelings towards people like me, so I suppose I just assumed he wouldn’t mind, or at least didn’t outwardly despise us. But I guess people can still surprise you even after having known them your entire life.

Dinner that night was excruciatingly silent.

The next morning wasn’t as quiet. All throughout breakfast my father was going on and on about the raid and subsequent protests detailed in the morning paper. His words tasted bitter against the sickly sweetness of the pancakes I scarfed down in distraction. I longed for the painful stillness of the dinner before and blocked out his rhetoric as best I could. I could only take so much.

“Impaled, huh? Well, it serves him right.”

That was the final straw.

I ignored my father’s shouts as I stood from the table and ascended the stairs to my room. Ignored the footsteps trailing behind me until I reached my room and promptly slammed the door in my father’s face and turned the lock.

Out of all the ways this week could have gone, of all the things that could have happened…. I knew it could have been worse for me, of course. It could always be worse.

I turned the breakfast over and over in my mind. The disgusting pride on my father’s face was seared into my memory – it was all I could see when I closed my eyes. I paced and paced and paced around my room and screamed into my pillow, panicked and desperate. Simmered in my anger. I needed to run, to sweat out my frustrations and pain and shower it all away afterward. I still had work to do on my thesis, but that could wait. Its importance paled in comparison to my current hopeless state of mind.

Before, when everything was normal still, I could retreat from whatever horrors the world offered into my parents’ arms. They would always welcome me no matter what. I was their child, their baby whom they never wanted to grow up. They loved me then. They said forever. But now it was nothing more than a far-off memory – a scattered dream. Apart from that obvious lie of eternal and unwavering love, running was all I had.

I avoided my neighbor’s eyes and ignored his “good morning” as I started down the porch and out the gate. I knew better now. Father had made sure of that.

Even with the waning yet still present cold of winter, I passed the same people every morning. The old woman on her porch across the street, the neighborhood children in a yard a few houses down, the mail carrier making his rounds. And _them._ Always on porch steps, drinking who knows what at all hours of the day without shame, talking about any vile thing they could think up far too loudly. I had known some of them from before, though their names escaped me then and still do to this day. Not that I’d like to remember, anyhow. They were the type to peak in high school and never do anything with their life besides drink and hop from part time job to part time job. And every time I passed them they’d shout careless comments about my “pretty” face and “hippie” hair and catcalled me despite my sex because they knew it would hurt. That’s all they cared about. To hurt.

That morning was different. They’d said nothing to me, only whispered amongst themselves some petty gossip. I paid them no mind. I thought, perhaps, they’d somehow outgrown their hostile childishness overnight.

I made my route as usual. Down the street, circle the next block, and back the way I came. The endorphins from my jog had begun to work their magic about halfway through, and the now slowly falling snowflakes eased the thoughts racing faster than my legs. Already I was starting to forget about the unfortunate interactions I’d been in over the past few days. Although they’d return with me when I arrived home, it was nice to forget for a while. Just a little while.

But shorter than I hoped.

As I rounded the corner back to my own stretch of street, I was stopped by seven or eight men approaching me from the side – most of them the same hooligans that would yell and holler from the porch, but a few I had never seen before. They’d never dared leave their stoop to harass me, never dared confront me head on. There was something different, something ominously joyful, in the way they stared me down and closed in around me.

“Y’know,” one of the men I knew from high school spoke. There was a strange, almost prideful inflection to his voice that sent a wave of terror down my spine. “There’s this rumor goin’ around.”

I looked around, inwardly frantic but outwardly composed. Never let them see your fear. I pushed down any threat of tears, swallowed through the lump in my throat. Never let them see you cry.

“They say the pretty boy down the street ain’t pretty for just any old reason. And who’d have thought? A queer in our neighborhood,” another one of the men I’d known stepped forward from the crowd, bagged beer in hand. “Tsk. Tsk. We’ll have to teach it a lesson, won’t we boys?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I spat, every ounce of my co-mingling fear and anger doing their very best to make me sound as intimidating as possible, as pointless as it was.

A laugh came from behind in a voice I didn’t recognize. He stepped up behind me, too close for comfort. Everything in me tensed, and I tried to step forward and away from him. Before I could, I felt the smooth edge of a blade just below my Adam’s apple.

“Where do you think you’re going, pretty boy?” The scent of alcohol on his breath was overwhelming, hot against the brisk wind and freshly falling snow on my neck. I heard knuckles cracking from one of them and unintelligible mutters from more than a few. I could feel the man behind me curl his lips into a wicked, disgusting smile against the skin behind my ear as he spoke and inched the blade further and further down my neck, tearing the collar of my shirt down to the stitching. It scratched the flesh all the way down to where it rest on my sternum.

If it were any other day, any less guys, I’d have stood my ground. I was more fit for a fight than any of them, and one-on-one – hell, even three-on-one – I’d have fought. I’d have fought hard, too. I was stubborn like that; never backed down. But years of brutal after-school scuffles with petty teenage bullies and seeing just what humans were capable of when filled with enough darkness taught me when to bail. So, I bailed.

Before they could close their circle around me, I threw back my elbow with as much force as I could muster, straight into the man’s gut. He broke away from me with a grunt, and I ran. Ran as fast as I could toward my house, never looking back, never stopping. The snowflakes stuck in my eyelashes, melted against my heated skin as my lungs gave their all to resist the bite of the frigid air of late-winter I panted in and out. I ran. But…it wasn’t enough. I slipped on a too-slick patch of snow – they caught up with me. Pushed, kicked, punched, cut, anything they could think to do to hurt me. The only sounds that filled my ears were their slurs like bullets to the chest. The cold, slick edge of the man’s switchblade pressed against my jaw was the least of the pain permeating my body. The constant ache of their boots against my ribcage far outweighed the threat of the knife. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t speak save for choked out pleas of mercy – yet even all of that seemed of minor importance compared to the words repeating in my brain.

_Fight back._

But as it was, I didn’t stand a chance. I had enough sense left to know fighting back would end much, much worse than was already promised. All I could do was beg. Beg for them to stop, to leave me alone, to forgive whatever offense I had caused them. And, after a while, my despondency overtook any speck of self-preservation that remained in me. I could only wait for them to show pity on my bruised and broken frame, however long it took. The minutes felt like hours, and only once I lay limp on the sidewalk did they relent. Between the burning in my chest and the splatters of coughed up blood on the frosted cement, I retained no attention to pay their insidious laughter as they kicked me in the stomach one last time before turning to make their leave.

I never let them see me cry. I had that, at least. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

I wasn’t far from my house. It took a while, but I managed to get to my feet long enough to stumble the few houses lengths home. The snow was piling up now, coming down much harder than before. I imagined the color of the blood dripping from...everywhere, really, was beautiful against the freshly fallen powder on the ground. It made every minor tumble just a little more bearable than my initial slip to the sidewalk.

Only when I reached my porch did I let the tears fall.

I staggered through the doorway, holding my side, blood and tears pooling together on the floor. A muffled metallic clank graced my ears through the ringing. My mother had thrown down her knitting and rushed over when she saw me leaning against the wall hardly able to keep myself standing. But dad…he wasn’t happy with that. Without so much as a partial glance away from the television screen, he laughed.

“Leave him be.”

_Leave him be? His own **son**?_

And she _obeyed._

The tears fell harder then – no longer a slow _drip, drip, drip,_ but a river of salt and sweat and blood and water, plummeting from my face to the floor. A constant flow. Through the angry rapids I pushed forward, stumbling every few seconds. Crawled up the stairway near howling in agony and betrayal, to the only respite I knew. Before the weak _click_ of the door latching shut came the soft sobs of my mother, the laugh track of my father’s sitcom.

I thought…knew…that anything would be better than this. This family, this world, this…life. It was…I….

I was afraid. Afraid of the father who loathed his son, afraid of the people I knew would never understand or accept me, afraid of the crushing reality of never belonging anywhere, afraid of the person I was. Indecent, deviant, sick, and _unashamed of it._ More than anything I was afraid of the fear.

And I just so happened to have high ceilings.

And I just so happened to have rope.

I don’t actually remember _dying_. It was like falling asleep, only a lot more painful. And when I woke up, I was laying on my bedroom floor as if I had simply passed out drunk. The bones I was sure were broken felt good as new, and the bruises, the cuts, the rope, everything…it was all gone. There was a clamor downstairs, so I ran to investigate. With any luck, my mother would be able to fill me in on just what the hell was going on.

Contrary to what I had expected, I found a funeral. Flowers, finger food, preacher, women in dark veils and men in suits, the whole nine yards. An open casket.

There’s something about looking down at your own dead body that is so indisputably, unmistakably, totally and completely _fucked up._ You can feel it before you even look. A dark presence infiltrates your very being, worming its way into the deepest recesses of your body and soul. You can feel it in your fingertips much in the same way you feel the first signs of an alcohol buzz. Your curiosity overwhelms you, so you take a step toward yourself. You may not have a heart to pump blood, but fuck if it isn’t _pounding._ You may not have lungs to breathe, but fuck if they aren’t _hyperventilating._ I’d be lying if I said the anticipation was the worst part. At first you don’t believe it – your mind is playing a disgusting trick on you. So you look closer. Closer. Closer. Your first instinct is to run, to distance yourself from your own lifeless form in front of you. Instead, your legs fall out from under you. You fall to your knees and scream and scream and _scream._ You try to cry but the tears refuse to fall. It makes you so sick to your stomach you pray for the ability to vomit. And yeah, you lose your appetite.

When dozens of people – friends, neighbors, family – are all shuffling around you, offering condolences to your parents, crying and straining weak laughs and smiles, paying absolutely no attention to the breakdown you’re having on the floor next to your own coffin…well, you start to connect a few dots.

It all must have been more than my mother could handle. Soon after the funeral I found her the same way she must have found me. I know there was a time they loved each other, a time when they were happy. Still, I’ll never know how such a kind, light-filled woman was fated to be with a man who became so heartless, so cruel, so full of hatred and darkness. It wasn’t until my mom was gone that I found out I couldn’t leave the house. I was stuck with the man I came to loathe, and although he hadn’t known I was there, his presence alone was enough to send me reeling in anger at the sight of him. Being stuck there was the part I hated most.

It didn’t last too long – he moved out within a few weeks and left me with everything but her remains and some of his personal items. A part of me hoped her spirit would linger and provide me with the company I craved, but it wasn’t meant to be. Knowing she was in a better place brought me some comfort amidst the cold and empty building I used to think was my safe zone. My home.

I was alone. Dad never was able to sell the house. I wouldn’t, I _couldn’t,_ let him. I guess you could say I wasn’t ready to let it go. As much as I hated being alone, I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone that wasn’t my mother moving in, couldn’t face the fact that the house didn’t belong to me anymore. I sabotaged every open house and realtor tour that was held until, eventually, they stopped happening. I know it isn’t right, I know I should have let it go a long, _long_ time ago. But even still, if anyone tried to take this place from me…I don’t think I could handle it. I’d have to, and that’s the worst part. I’d have to put up with some other family, watch some other kid’s parents follow in the same footsteps as my own. I wouldn’t be able to stop it. It was better to be alone than let the darkest memories of this place infect even one more person.

Throughout the years I locked myself away in my study. The paper stopped being delivered when my father left, so the only indications I had of the date were the holiday parties the neighbors threw. It wasn’t often, but sometimes I liked to sit on the porch stairs, watching the people around me live out their lives, coming and going as humans do.

I thought being stuck here would be the last thing I learned about my new state of existence.

The people down the street seemed nice enough. I admired their holiday decorations whenever they went up, and the three of them seemed close. I remember seeing the girl grow up in that house – she moved out when she got old enough, but a few weeks after I watched an ambulance haul away the old man who raised her she came back for good. She had a husband then. I remember feeling a sense of pride. She was a good kid, grew up to be a kind woman. She deserved happiness, and I was glad she found it. I was a little jealous, too. She had something I didn’t, something I was certain I’d never have the chance to get.

After a few months another person moved in with them – that’s when the elaborate decorations began. A couple years later, they held a Halloween party.

I didn’t think much of it – neighbors held parties all the time. It was annoying, sure, and louder than it should have been for only about a dozen people. I tried my best to ignore it and focus on what I was writing. I didn’t notice the two strangers making their way up my porch, didn’t notice the curious man sneaking through my house in the dark until he was already in too deep.

After hearing a familiar creak in the floorboards of the hall, I looked up from my work to see the back end of a figure passing by my study. I stood from my place on the chair and crept toward the door. I thought my haven had been forgotten – it had been a good few years since the last brave soul to be scared off by me had visited. And while I admit that I sometimes enjoyed my little game perhaps a bit too much, that night I had been in no mood. The party raging down and across the street had been diverting my focus away from my work nearly all night despite my efforts to ignore, and the visitor had dared to peek into my room. _My_ room. A quick, forceful scare was all I had the patience for, and so that’s what I intended to do. I exited my study with a slam of the door. I heard a scream, a curse, panicked footsteps rushing back toward the stairs. A blur of brown and orange streaked past me, and…brown? Orange?

Immediately realizing my mistake, I yelled after the blur of sudden color to stop, to _wait let me explain!_ The blur, of course, couldn’t hear me. I followed, in hot pursuit of the Halloween-costumed figure, down the stairs and to the back door – the man had shut it before I caught up. As I stared at him through the window and my tears, I couldn’t help but laugh. He held a makeshift weapon. Silly boy, everyone knows you can’t kill what’s already dead. Didn’t he know what kind of creature he was dealing with? Besides, that’s a stick. After a minute or two, he must have realized I meant no harm and lowered his guard. I watched as he took in the neglected garden, wishing more than ever that I could be heard, be seen.

_Please let me be seen. Please._

It was pointless, but I closed my eyes and focused on the one singular thing that I had wanted, truly wanted, in my whole afterlife. “Please” became my mantra in those moments, no other word better befitting my desire, my desperation. I _needed_ this. I didn’t hear the footsteps or the crunching of the broken window glass on the back porch, and I was so deep into my own mind to register the opening of the door in front of me. What I did notice, however, was the all but forgotten sensation of another body against mine.

My eyelids swung open and I looked down to the smaller man in front of me. Up close, his once muddled colors were clear – chocolate brown hair, an orange mask worn more like an eyepatch, and the _bluest eyes._

I don’t remember much from before. But I’m certain that in my entire life, my entire afterlife…I’ve never smiled wider.

“Beautiful….”

***

“It used to be a painful memory. For decades I tried to erase it from my mind, suppress it into the deepest depths of a time forgotten in history. Recently though, it hasn’t bothered me so much. I keep telling myself that if none of that had ever happened, I wouldn’t have met you. And who knows? Maybe that’s the reason why my spirit stayed here. It was so lonely for so long…but in the end, that loneliness was worth it. All those years alone in an empty house couldn’t prepare me for the possibility that one day I would meet the person I was literally _destined_ to be with. And the intensity of my cold isolation most definitely can’t compare to the warmth I feel when I’m around you.”

Sora could only stare at the tombstone engraved with his soulmate’s name. The humidity in his eyes had begun as a mere mist long ago, but by now was a torrential downpour. He was confused. Primarily due to Riku’s story, but also because he couldn’t understand how he hadn’t realized it before. There had been a constant feeling that something was wrong apart from his temporary colorblindness – there was hesitation in nearly everything Riku did, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to so much as _exist_ near Sora. He always fell asleep after Sora and was always the first to wake, as if he hadn’t slept at all. He never ate much of the food Sora would bring for them. Did he even need to eat? He was somehow even less tech-literate than Sora was – he didn’t even own a cell phone. Sora had believed that Riku just wasn’t fond of people, and that was the reason for always meeting him here, but he…he never even saw Riku leave. Not just on Halloween, but every time Sora left. Never even stepped out past the gate. Of course.

“So I guess…that’s why you won’t visit me anywhere else,” Sora finally said in a whisper.

Riku nodded.

“My spirit…soul…whatever you want to call it…it’s tied to this place.” He placed a hand on Sora’s shoulder and tried to coax him into looking at him. Even after being turned towards Riku, Sora continued to avoid his gaze.

“Sora, I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you before, but…I didn’t know how you would react. I thought that maybe you wouldn’t believe me, or you wouldn’t want anything to do with me after learning the truth. I couldn’t–”

“Don’t.”

Riku gasped.

“Don’t you dare think that I could ever want nothing to do with you.”

Sora stared at Riku through his bangs and balled his fists as he spoke. “Why do you think I’ve been coming here nearly every day? Because I like spider-infested houses with no electricity or plumbing? Because I like freezing all night? Of course I don’t! Riku, I…”

There were only quiet sniffles and a shuddered breath in response. Sora sighed, and softened as he looked back at the grave. He thought for a moment – his next words would need to be chosen carefully.

“Every morning I look forward to coming here, and when I stay the night I can hardly stop myself from staring at you the entire time. It breaks my heart every time I leave you here, and not because the color goes away. Everything you do, everything you _are_ is precious to me. I want to be with you. Always. You don’t have to be alone anymore. I’d die before I let that happen.”

He turned to face Riku once more, and he was greeted with silent tears and pained, confused eyes.

“But…how is this going to work? You can’t stay here all the time – you have a life, friends, a career, a home. I can’t ask you to throw all that away just to rough it with me in a house that isn’t fit to live in.”

With one hand, Sora took Riku’s and gave it a little squeeze. He placed the other on Riku’s cheek, using his thumb to dry the wet skin. The two locked eyes, and both allowed even more tears to fall as Sora said with his signature grin, “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

His heart skipped a beat when Riku smiled for the first time in what felt like hours. Sora suddenly found himself being pulled into Riku’s arms so tight he could hardly breathe, but he didn’t mind one bit. All that mattered was the warmth. The soft, strong arms of his soulmate locking him into their embrace, desperate for Sora’s body to be as close to their own as physically possible. All that mattered was Riku.

Sora nuzzled his face into Riku’s chest, inhaling the familiar scent of dusty wood and lavender that for weeks he had been so fond of, and gripped the back of his shirt tight. Muffled by Riku’s lips being smothered in Sora’s perpetually messy hair, he heard a sigh, then a whisper.

“I love you, Sora.”

“I love you too, Riku. Forever.”

***

Once, Sora saw the world in black and white.

He used to go out on his balcony and gaze up at the stars, taking in the bright dots of white against a black sky. He’d once wondered if there would ever come a day when the world looked as vivid and bright as all his married friends insisted it was. He had wanted to believe they were right, that there was more to the universe than shades of grey and longing for another’s touch.

Now, he didn’t have to wonder. Now, for Sora, believing was so much more than seeing. It was the warmth around his waist and on his cheek, shielding him from the cold. It was the whisper of a name in an otherwise silent night. It was being trusted with a most precious secret. It was green eyes that sparkled only for him, silver hair soft beneath his fingers, beautiful pale pink lips against his. It was knowing he’d never have to wonder again.

And he could finally say, without a shadow of a doubt, he was happy with the way things were now. Because now, for Sora, believing was _Riku._ That’s all he’d ever need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope you all enjoyed! <3
> 
> This chapter was the hardest to write as I wanted to get Riku's story as believable and realistic as I could without getting _too_ graphic.
> 
> The raid and protest referenced in this chapter are the Snake Pit raid and protest that took place on March 8, 1970. You can read about it [here](https://www.nyclgbtsites.org/site/the-snake-pit/) if you're not already familiar.
> 
> National Suicide Prevention Lifeline  
> (800) 273-8255
> 
> The Trevor Project  
> (866) 488-7386
>
>>   
> As always, catch me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/smollNerd)  
> And [Tumblr!](https://smollestnerd.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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